Paper Money
by kenzier
Summary: Heaven's so far away.
1. Chapter 1

**Paper Money**

**by kenzier  
**

* * *

Banknotes weren't really in style anymore. Even street vendors and food trucks had gotten with the now. The last time he could remember using cash was at the strip joint.

It was a shame really. Something about a stack of bills always did something for Spike. It was almost…sexy. The way it felt in your hand, the way it looked, the way it smelled. It was one of the things that had always made the gangsters in his neighborhood look so cool. They all carried thick money clips with ornate dragon designs, and they'd lick their fingers and casually slide out a couple of bills with the pads of their thumbs when they were shooting dice.

Yeah, he was a dumb kid. But the cash thing stuck.

It was one of the things he and Faye had in common. He saw the way she beamed when she was looking at a big pile of money. It was like he was seeing cartoon dollar signs in her eyes. If her greed wasn't so irritating, it might have been endearing.

Unfortunately, their affinity of paper money was one of the only things they seemed to have in common anymore.

Spike kicked the bathroom door impotently. "You've put on enough fucking war paint! Let's GO!"

He and Faye had been partners for three years now, after Jet fell for one of their bounties (a woman down on her luck that he could swoop in and rescue with no irony) and settled down. Now Spike was subjected to all the burdens of having a girlfriend without actually getting laid. Worse, neither of them _could_ get laid because they were always stuck hanging out with each other. They took out their frustrations the only way they knew how—on each other.

Faye ripped open the door, face flushed with rage. "OH MY _GOD_! I can't fucking _stand_ you. I hope God strikes me down this very fucking instant so I don't have to look at you another fucking second." Her fists were balled in front of her, and her whole body was wracked with violent tremors.

"Well, that was uncalled for."

She shoved him hard. "Just fucking GO! I don't want to go. Go fuck yourself, you fucking douchebag!"

"Oh, no you don't." He grabbed her arm as she turned to retreat back into her bathroom. "You screwed up our last two leads. You will _not_ fuck this up too."

"Get bent, Spiegel." She twisted out of his grasp and slammed the door in his face.

Spike lit a cigarette and sighed.

"I didn't say you could smoke in here!"

He felt his body bind up immediately in rage and disbelief. No one else had ever been able to make him this angry with such petty nonsense.

The door flew open again. He was not prepared for this; he was seconds from strangling her. Still, he forced himself to relax quickly. She could never know. It was a card he could never let her have.

She casually brushed past him, retrieved her purse from the coffee table, lit a cigarette, and stood in front of him.

"I'm ready to go now."

_I can't take this anymore. This has to be the last one. No more. Tell her now. Say it now._

He eyed her. She wore denim cutoffs so short her ass hung out when she bent over. Red suspenders over a black t-shirt, black knee-high riding boots, hair pulled back in a ponytail, her dark bangs hanging in her eyes.

"Let's go."

* * *

"Two of the guys leave at the same time every day to go make a drop. They'll be gone for an hour. That gives up plenty of time to take down the other two and wait for them to come back. Pay attention!"

Faye glared at him over her compact. "I _am_. Maybe if someone had let me finish my makeup in my apartment, I wouldn't have to do it now."

"Maybe if you didn't chain smoke and drink yourself in oblivion every night of the week you wouldn't need to wear so much makeup."

"Maybe if my partner wasn't such a fucking asshole and a total drip I wouldn't need to smoke and drink to get through life. Seriously, what is your fucking problem today?"

Spike gripped the steering wheel hard. "This has the potential to be the biggest score we've made in years, and you're doing everything you can to fuck it up."

"I'm not doing anything. You're picking at me. I'm being totally normal. You're the one that's acting all weird and prickish."

"Well, maybe that's the problem."

"What?"

"Your concept of '_normal_'. It's totally tweaked."

"It's so obvious why you've never had a real grown-up relationship. You don't get women at all," she said sharply. He'd obviously touched a nerve.

"So says the woman who has no room left on her bedpost to put notches in." She'd touched one too.

The irony was that there had someone for a moment there. It only lasted a few weeks, but there was potential for something—something blessedly simply and straightforward. He'd really liked her and she was sweet. But after she'd met Faye, nothing was the same. Faye could make any woman feel threatened—she exuded sexuality and had the ability to make men think only about one thing. It ended shortly after.

He'd resented Faye at first until he remembered just how many times he'd gone out of his way to chase men away from her. It wasn't jealousy—he just liked to irritate her. She'd be laughing and flirting with some guy, having fun, and he'd think about something she'd done to piss him off and how she didn't deserve to be so carefree when he was so unhappy so he'd step in and cock block her. He'd get some twisted kind of satisfaction out of it—it's how he got back at her for fucking with him.

That was until he'd caught her crying in an alleyway one night after he'd made a big show—pretending to be angry at some douche for putting his hand on her ass and then laughing hysterically about it after the guy stormed out. Even though there were together all time, he realized they were both totally alone. He had hugged her and kissed her and that was the first and only time he'd ever slept over.

"You know that's not true."

He snapped back to their conversation.

"Yeah, whatever."

He could see her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. She just kept looking, not turning away.

"If this score goes well, I think we should think about finding new partners. This is obviously not working out anymore," she said, voice breaking a little.

A shock ran through his system for two whole seconds. "I think we should think about it regardless. We haven't been making any money together anyway."

"Fine with me."

He realized there was a fine mist forming on the windshield, closing them off from the rest of the world, making it hard to see clearly. He flipped on the windshield wipers and the world came into view again. The sun was still shining. It was a sunshower.

* * *

They stood across the street from the building, waiting. The rain had brought the smell of wet asphalt up into the air. The clouds had finally come and brought with them a biting autumn cold, but the rain had thankfully stopped. The wind blew leaves across the sidewalk in front of him. The sun was beginning to set and he was taken back for a moment to when he was just a boy…playing outside after school, running until his lungs burned from the chill as the seasons turned summer into fall and fall into winter.

Faye shivered a little beside him.

He was beginning to regret his behavior his morning. But he couldn't tell her. It was probably better this way. He thought of how she used to be when they'd first met. Something was gone. It seemed that her capacity for any sort of happiness was disappearing.

He eyed the crumbling townhouse they were soon to enter. Some drug dealers were running an operation out of the basement. It was a tip that no one else had yet and something he'd paid well for. These guys were cops killers wanted dead or alive and worth 10 million each. And there were four of them. It would be the biggest score of his life and he didn't even have to be careful.

His heart sped up just a little as he saw the heads of the two they'd been waiting for appear emerge from the basement stairs. He looked at Faye and suddenly they were partners again. She nodded and headed into the alleyway. Part of the plan was to make sure these two fucks didn't show back up while they were working over the other two. Faye would walk down and around the block and then back up, making sure they were headed east where they'd be heading to drop off some of their goods. Then they'd take on the other two together.

If she didn't fuck this up, he'd apologize. And if she did, maybe he would anyway.

He leaned forward to peer down the street. Nothing yet. He was starting to get nervous (which he hated). A light in the window above him came on and he started. Night was falling and he could see his breath and strangely, the visceral, nervous feelings of that cold night and the sound of her crying came back to him for a split second.

He'd apologize no matter how this turned out.

Then he heard the sound of her boots approaching—not too hurriedly, but just enough for him to know it was her. He materialized from his hiding place and fell into step beside her. They descended the concrete stairs together, producing their weapons. Faye flattened herself against the wall midway down the stairs and Spike did the same at the wall in front of the door. They were silent for a moment as Faye scoped out the sidewalk above and then nodded to him. He inhaled and twisted the knob, peering inside down the hallway. He slid inside along the wall and held the door open. Faye ducked under his arm and tiptoed down to the end of the hall where it turned into second corridor. Spike gently closed the door, locked it from the inside, and turned off the lights in the hallway. Faye nodded to him and turned the corner. He followed, watching as she plastered herself against the wall on one side of the door. He did the same. They looked at each other. Faye inhaled deeply and nodded.

Spike stepped away from the wall and crossed until he was directly in front of the door. Then he began to run. He always amazed at his ability to do this stuff. Normal people couldn't do this stuff. The door jamb cracked and splintered as the door flew inward. He took no chances and put a bullet directly into the chest of the bald guy sitting at the table inside. The gun he'd grabbed fell on the ground behind him as he toppled over in his chair. Faye darted in behind Spike and they stood back to back for a moment.

"Where's the other?"

"I don't know. Stay here."

He walked over to the bald guy's piece as she turned to face him. He tossed her the second gun, and started into the interior hallway cautiously.

He approached the first door quietly and turned the knob, letting the door fall open on its own. He looked into the filthy bedroom.

"Savages," he whispered disdainfully.

He surveyed the room curiously until his eyes met the outline of a door. It was painted the same dark blue as the room which made it immediately suspicious to Spike. He edged closer to it, tested the knob, and prepared to open it swiftly. Before Spike could even think, he heard another door slam open across the room and the second man appeared in the doorway with an AR-15 only to be hurled as if by God backward into the room he'd come from. Spike turned to see Faye in the doorway, pistol smoking.

"Fuck. My fucking ears. Didn't I ask you to stay put?"

"Well, when I was seven, I asked Santa for a charming, handsome prince-"

Faye's eyes went wide.

"What?"

She pointed at him. He was still gripping the knob of the door he hadn't even realized he had opened.

"Oh."

"No. Look."

He turned. The door behind him lead to a small linen closet with five or six shelves each of which held not towels but enormous stacks of woolongs. There was little space left for any more.

He turned to Faye. Dollar signs were already spinning in her eyes.

"Find some bags, luggage, anything."


	2. Chapter 2

**Paper Money**

**by kenzier  
**

* * *

They had driven for over an hour, both hyper-aware of everything around them. His eyes hurt, his head hurt, and his body felt distant. He struggled to maintain his sanity as he felt his body disintegrate into white noise and his mind attempted to grab onto something, anything at all to keep him grounded.

Spike didn't even know how long it had been until he got to the motel. He pulled into a handicap spot in front of the manager's office and collapsed at the wheel.

"Ask for a room on the back of the building."

"Okay."

"And say you'll be alone."

"Okay."

Faye breathed happily, and stared forward, the neon lights casting a lovely glow on her awestruck face. Her eyes were glassy, shining so brightly they were almost totally white.

"Oh my God."

"I know."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about this morning," she said breathlessly. Her excitement and joy was threatening to burst out in all directions.

"It's okay. Just get the room."

"Okay," she said, climbing out of the car, leaning down to look at him as she grabbed her purse out of the floorboard, smiling as she slammed the car door shut. He watched her as she happily skipped up the steps to the manager's office.

Suddenly, he felt relieved. He was afraid he'd never be able to calm down knowing what had just transpired. He had been downright manic as they hauled the bags back to his car, so much so that every part of his body was beginning to ache now from being clenched tight for so long.

He wanted to get inside and collapse on the carpet and laugh until he cried.

It was real. Real money. He'd burned it to know for sure. Counterfeit woolongs were often made with a kind of paper that had been developed on the black market to very closely imitate the paper official currency was printed on. The burn of a counterfeit woolong had different characteristics. It was faster, for one thing. It burned so quickly you were liable to catch yourself on fire if you weren't careful. He recalled a time when Vicious had ignited a stack of counterfeit bills and tossed them into the car of a rival group of enforcers. The car was engulfed in flames within seconds. As Faye darted around the dank rat hole looking for anything to haul it in, he'd held a piece over his lighter and watched it catch fire and burn the way real money should. The flame cast no shadows in the darkly painted room and as he watched the paper curl and disappear he felt a sense of foreboding—that his future had now lost any semblance of shape or meaning, that this was not a gift but a curse.

"Here. This was all I could find."

"What?"

"Wake the fuck up, Spike. We've gotta get the fuck outta here!"

They started shoveling the cash into the large garbage bags Faye had found—eventually triple-bagging them because of the sheer weight of the cargo. Not a single woolong was left after they were finished.

Spike grabbed two bags and Faye carried one.

"You're gonna have to cover me."

"You're covered."

"When we get outside, don't run. Just walk."

"I know."

"Let's go."

The walk back to the car was excruciating and painful but they were nothing if not professionals at pretending to be cool. As they pulled away without incident, Faye made a noise that seemed to be a singular expression of ecstasy, excitement, anxiety, and fear all rolled into one. It was an exclamation she would have only made around him or by herself, and the sound of it reminded him just why it was that he'd hung on for so long.

"I can't _fucking_ believe this. I can't believe it. The shit we just pulled off. Oh my God, I can't believe it."

"We gotta get as far away from here as possible."

"We've got nowhere to be. My god, I can't believe this."

He attempted to clear the city limits as quickly as he could, thinking all the while how unprepared he was to uproot his life this way. He hadn't realized just how settled he'd become in these last few years. He found himself becoming more and more upset at the thought of all he was to leave behind. His little apartment wasn't much, but there was a bottle of Maker's Mark in his cabinet that he'd spent half a fortune on, a small photo album he kept under his mattress which contained the last existing photograph of the kid and the dog, and a pair of sunglasses that had once belonged to Julia.

Faye seemed to have had a similar realization. He saw doubt flit over her expressive features for a split second.

"We can't."

"But my beta…"

"Can't go back."

She breathed. "You're right."

Her exuberance returned quickly and he imagined she was calculating just how many new outfits she would be able to buy as a means of distracting herself from the loss of her most precious possession.

* * *

"This is positively sinful."

Faye was sitting Indian-style in the middle of one of the two queen-size beds. Spike had dumped one of the trash bags out in front of her.

"Don't unwrap too much at once. You'll lose count."

"Don't act like I've never counted money before."

"My experience is that you count it only after it's all gone."

She happily ignored him and started removing the neatly manicured bundles from the smaller plastic bags they were wrapped in. Spike dumped out one of the other garbage bags on the Formica table across from the beds and began doing the same.

It took almost an hour to count and re-count all three bags, but the final total was roughly 200 million woolongs. The slow, arduous task had muted some of their excitement and replaced it with anxiety. With each stack of bills added to the pile, they felt the weight of what they had just done grow heavier and more real. Each woolong was a greater indictment than the last.

"Jesus fuck," Faye said, grinding her forehead into the palm of her hand. "I can't even think right now."

"I know," Spike said tiredly. "I'm exhausted, but I don't think I could sleep."

"I may never be able to sleep again."

Spike watched as Faye rubbed her eyes with balled fists in a most child-like fashion. Her red suspenders were pooled around her thighs and she'd released her high ponytail so that her dark hair had fallen across her pale neck. Something pulled inside of him and he swallowed hard.

"Whoever we took this money from will be coming after it."

"No doy."

He looked away. "We should both leave the planet tomorrow. It's probably best if we don't see each other for awhile after this."

He looked back. Her mouth twisted strangely as she watched him, and then after a few moments she nodded. "I guess that's really what we planned to do anyway, right?"

Pride is a funny thing. All these years he'd taken great care to never let Faye know just how fond of her he really was. He was never sure why. Perhaps it was her cynicism, her opportunistic behavior—he found himself feeling scornful about her pettiness and greed. Early encounters aside, she'd never faltered in her loyalty to him since they'd teamed up, yet he found himself unable to completely trust her. Undoubtedly, her beauty played a part in it. She was almost _too_ attractive to be wholly genuine. Her physical infallibility and willingness to display it indicated to him some defect of personality. Moreover, knowing what he knew about her past and how deeply troubled any person would be in her particular situation, the fact that she was able to turn on "Poker Alice" and leave the real Faye behind with such ease was cause enough for him to keep his distance.

He exhaled deeply. "If you want to sleep, I'll keep watch."

"Okay, "she said.

She climbed off the bed with a small grunt and crossed the room. Suddenly, he was breathless with anticipation. She passed by him and headed toward the sink in the corner. Using one of the rough, white terry-cloth rags, she began removing her makeup, soiling the towel with beiges, blacks, and pinks.

He lit a cigarette and stared at the money that was now evenly separated into two garbage bags.

He rose from his chair. "I'll be back."

"Where are you going?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

"Going to get some stronger bags. There's no way to haul this in these."

She nodded hesitantly.

He smiled at her. "I won't be gone long. I'll get some grub, too."

"Okay," she said quietly and turned back to the mirror.

Spike opened the door as little as he could and slipped out. After they'd unloaded their bags, he drove his car down the block and parked it in the lot of another motel.

He began to hoof it down the road. The smell of the wet asphalt made him melancholy in a way he couldn't comprehend.

He would get them burgers and fries and shakes for dinner. Something old-fashioned. Faye really loved that stuff. She said that it reminded her of being a kid on Earth. If it was to be their last meal together, he would try to make it special.

He drove around a bit, unfamiliar with the territory. He saw a man standing on a corner selling luggage but didn't dare stop. Those street types had big mouths. He needed to find the least suspect place possible. He passed hardware and sporting goods stores, surmising that is where _he_ would search if he were looking for someone who'd just stolen all of his money.

Eventually, he happened upon an upscale women's boutique located in a quiet strip mall.

_What the hell. Chicks always have those big ass purses._

Sure enough there was an entire wall of handbags and purses with a small selection of outrageously priced luggage.

_Well, at least Faye will like it. It's practically made of money._

He grabbed two of the rolling suitcases with the muted European monogram print and hauled them to the checkout desk. The clerk spoke with a strange accent he'd never heard before. She had large breasts, a tiny waist, and strong eyebrows.

"These are the best suitcases. They last forever."

"Good," he said inattentively, looking around as she wrapped them up. He noticed a mannequin towering over him, standing on a platform. Draped around its elbows was a red sweater tied at the waist. He realized it looked just like the one Faye used to wear when they lived on the Bebop, back when she had those yellow hot pants and white boots. He was amused by the memory. That seemed like ages ago.

* * *

This time he parked in the lot of their motel, reminding himself to move the car after he'd dropped off his purchases.

He juggled the two suitcases as well as their bag of fast food and a drink carrier, using his head to knock on the door.

"Hurry up, I'm gonna drop this shit."

Faye swiftly unlocked the metal door and stepped aside to let him pass.

"What a disaster," he complained, dumping the bags on the floor, trying desperately not to do the same to their drinks.

Faye closed the door behind him. She was wearing a big fluffy robe and her hair was dripping.

"Sorry. I was in the shower."

"Don't say sorry. It's not becoming of you," he said, unloading the burgers and fries onto the table.

She said nothing. He looked back at her then. Her eyes were puffy. She'd been crying. She dropped her head and went to sit on the end of the bed. He tried to pretend he hadn't noticed.

"I got you a strawberry shake. They had peach, too, but I wasn't sure if you'd like that."

"Thanks," she said faintly.

He laid out two places at the table for them and sat down—his way of asking her to join him. She approached and slid into the chair adjacent to him. She began with her fries, chewing slowly and thoughtfully.

Spike watched her out of the corner of his eye. "You know, this burger just wasn't what I was hoping it would be. It's a little dry. I was hoping for some grease. Something I'd regret tomorrow. Fries are good, though. Seasoned."

She nodded distantly.

He put his burger down and twisted a napkin in his hands, trying to clean them.

"I, um…"

She ran her hand roughly down the side of her face, exhaling deeply, blowing air out of her inflated cheeks. Then suddenly she was completely overcome. Her face screwed up tightly and she shook her head. Her hands went to her face and deep, high-pitched sobs echoed into her hands.

He'd been defeated. Faye always won whether she knew it or not.

He tugged her arm away from her face. She resisted at first, but soon she was pulled onto her feet and into his lap. Her face went into his shoulder and her arms wound themselves around his neck as he coiled his own around her waist, his large hands cradling her tiny body.

She cried and cried and cried, and all the while he began to feel like the world's biggest jackass. His throat felt raw and he gritted his teeth, angry at himself in a way only a man could be in knowing he'd hurt a woman he cared for.

Her breathing began to slow, and she inhaled and exhaled forcefully, trying to calm herself down.

"I'm sorry," she whispered morosely.

"I told you not to say 'sorry'," he joked. "It's not becoming of you."

He thought she might have chuckled a little then.

She whimpered and turned her forehead into his temple, her nose against his cheek.

"Happy now? You've snotted all over me," he teased lightly, shaking her gently in his arms.

She didn't laugh this time. Exhausted, her eyes fell closed and silent tears released themselves as she held him tightly.

"Hey," he whispered, shaking her again. "You'll see me again. I'm impossible to get rid of. Just ask Jet."

She shook her head. She didn't believe him. Not that he'd ever given her much reason to.

He didn't mean to be so damn casual about everything—it was just the way he was made. So little in life inspired him to be something different. He could feel it, sure, but he couldn't always _be_ it. The things he took truly seriously tended to disappoint him in the end, and Faye had set an unfortunate precedent for herself from the start.

"You don't have to lie, Spike," she said, voice strained.

"You're starting to hurt my feelings," he said dourly, meaning it. Misery was beginning to overtake him as he struggled to express himself in an artless way.

"Sorry," she said, sounding mostly sincere and a little ashamed.

He released one arm from around her waist and bent it back in toward himself, gripping her hand where it rested on his shoulder.

"I apologize if I've made you feel like you are anything less than ridiculously important to me. You don't make it easy, Faye, but that's not really an excuse, I guess."

With that came another deluge of tears and sobs.

"I'm not going to say nice things if they're just going to make you cry," he said, smiling sadly.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she said yet again.

He chuckled absurdly, frustrated with this new strand of inarticulateness she had developed, and shook her harder. "_Stop_. Saying. That. It just makes me feel worse."

She pulled her arms away to cover her face with her hands again. "I just—I just—I'll miss you."

"I figured. You know, because of the snot."

She laughed aloud, dropping her hands from her face, allowing him to look at her. He reached up with a single finger and guided newly forming tears off her cheeks.

She leaned back in to hug him again, lingering as he rubbed her back and hoped silently to himself that one day they _would_ see each other again and that maybe then things would be different—that maybe they would be different.

"I'll miss you too, baby."

Eventually her breathing slowed and she released him once more, sniffling lightly, wiping her nose of the sleeve of her robe.

"Well, you've made quite a spectacle of yourself."

She glared at him peevishly.

_That's my girl._

He reached out to touch her still-damp hair, squeezing droplets of water out as he stroked the strands down to the tips where they clung to her neck.

His heart sped up a little. "So, are you going to kiss me now or what?"

Her eyes dropped sadly, but that didn't discourage him. He slid a hand behind her head and tilted it upward, swiftly pressing his lips to hers. He captured her bottom lip in his, and pressed hard, feeling her inhale deeply through her nose and doing the same himself. He held her there for a tiny eternity, breathlessly breaking away when he felt her warm tears slide over his lips.

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Please don't cry. You're breaking my heart."

"I can't help it."

"I know."

"I'm tired. Can we lie down?"

"Yeah."

With that, he began to rise, intending to lift her as well, but she slid off of his lap to allow him to stand. She turned away and climbed onto the bed, lying on her side on top of the covers, the collar of her bathrobe fluffed up around her neck. He followed suit, mirroring her position, kicking of his shoes in the process. He scooted closer so they were sharing the same pillow, his forehead pressed to hers once again, and held one of her hands in his own between them. Her eyes were closed.

"You okay?" he whispered after some time.

She shook her head. Guiltily, he realized he had nothing to say. There was simply nothing that could be done.

He wanted to kiss her again, knowing that he may never get another chance, but respectfully controlled his desire.

As if hearing his thoughts, she opened her eyes and whispered quietly, "Will you kiss me?"

He moved slowly, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her in to him. He hovered over her slightly as he kissed her softly, warmly. Without warning, he felt her pull at his hand, sliding it inside of her robe. She bit into his lip as he pushed it off one shoulder, and responded by attacking the buckle of his belt.

He supposed this was all they had left.


End file.
